


Small Talk

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-03
Updated: 2002-05-03
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Pity kiss and an explanation.  You know you love that spikey-haired devil.





	Small Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Small Talk

## Small Talk

by Cythera

Disclaimer: 

Author's Notes: 

Story Notes: 

This story is a sequel to: Down Time 

* * *

Small talk  
by Cythera 

He's waiting for me, to say or do something, maybe cough up a little, maybe finally shatter whatever's hanging around me, getting his Mountie instincts all perked up. Damn, but he should've worn the red suit. This, the kinda rough sweater n'warm jeans thing, almost smell like that copper tang of zippers on wool, it's too close, and he's sitting at the table across the carpet from me. Watching me, waiting. 

Okay. I'm standing because I have something to say, an' he's watching me because I'm standing. So talk. 

"Frase..." I didn't know I was scared until that croaked out. Maybe sitting's good, but the chair's at the table and he's probably alarmed enough there without me advancin' on him. That, and he wore the sweater instead of the red thing and just makes me wonder if I'm rubbing my cheek on it in my head or if me standing back here having some restraint is only in my head and ho God what the hell was in that beer - 

"Ray?" 

Okay. Just talk. 

"Fraser. You got a minute?" I've been standing here for long enough I should just get a podium and ask that. 

He's making me see how much he's listening, nods, says, "Of course, Ray," like it's so easy and sets the cup down. 

Maybe if I can hold on to his gaze he'll just guess it...always knows where I'm going with my gun...But I look at the floor. At least now I can think a little, see what I mean to say, with the gold brown swirls of shiny wood like someone breathed `em out all flat so you can walk on `em. 

No, ~talk. 

"Fraser -" Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ, I can't do it. Just - it finally gets to me, like it's a wall of hot air been building up all night since I first got him to come over, hits me now, burns like a slap. I know I'm all red and I don't know what the hell I was thinking but that something had to give and Fraser should know, he had to know. Fuck-up after fuck-up, I think I'll just take my seat now...no, not that one, maybe the one in my car would be better... 

"Ray." Now he's standing, I had to look up, had to see that face. Maybe - maybe he gets it. He's looking so sad. I kind of pull at my left sleeve, make sure it's covering my arm. Don't need him sorry about that. He's got enough trouble with just me without the cuts...can probably see the tiny white lines from over there with his Super Mountie Vision. Can probably just look at them and know what I was thinking when I made them. Put the arm behind me, look down again in case I'm really letting that much go. Some things even Mounties aren't prepared for. 

He's across the carpet, then, and - Christ. He's holding me. Got his head on my neck and I kinda close my arms on him and his hair's cool but the wool's warm and he's holding on real firm, makes me relax a little. Makes me hold him back, then hold as much as it's hurt being lonely here, then as much as I'd wanted him to hold me. He stills a little when I squeeze him more, and says real low, "I'm sorry, Ray." 

He means it, still keeping me close as he can, giving me all he can...said he loves me once. I'm sorry, Fraser. I put my cheek on his shoulder, close my eyes. Feels just like I thought it would, rough with knit friction. You got the fucked-up cop, not your fault. I make myself answer, for Fraser, "'s okay." 

He stops moving at all - heart speeds up a little - maybe I'm really freaking him out, I should let go - 

He doesn't let me pull away, gently holds me there, and I can feel him take a deep breath and then I lift up my head and his lips are on me, he's moving his mouth on mine and it's so wet and warm and he's still holding me to him... 

When he breaks off my lips are all the sudden cold n'dry - I don't know what just happened, but he kinda hesitates, then lets me go. Now I'm cold all over, and my eyes close and I shiver. 

He takes a step back and it's like being alone in the apartment again. I open my eyes to make sure he's still there. 

He's giving me this look like he just told me he ran over my grandmother. I'm too dazed to cover for whatever that was just now. I want to tell him it's okay, but I can't think 

"I'm sorry, Ray..." 

Oh. 

It's kind of sinking in. Jesus, Fraser, you don't have to do that...he couldn't do that. He's standing back and damn there's a draft, again, again. 

"'s okay, Frase." I barely heard that, but know he did. He nods just the tiniest bit but still can't get the hell out like he's got to want to. 

Back of my head's buzzing and somehow I hear the refrigerator motor die. 

"Ray. You'll...you'll be all right here tonight?" It hurts how careful he's bein' with me. 

"Hey, I'm good." Rub my eye, like I'll sleep tonight. He's looking at me again. I think maybe he knows what's under my sleeve. I...that doesn't feel any better. Still. 

"Thanks." No, now I'm careful. "Thanks, Fraser." 

We both hear me not say, "I know you tried." 

He palms his hat, steps out, and I sit at my table. 

Wonder if I'm glad we had this talk. 

  * end - 



* * *

End Small Talk by Cythera:

Author and story notes above.


End file.
